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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303617">a story in the cracks in your hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auredosa/pseuds/Auredosa'>Auredosa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Fluff, Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Love Languages, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Touch-Starved, injuries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:41:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auredosa/pseuds/Auredosa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He was always averse to touch. There was a story in the cracks of his hands that he didn't mean wish to relieve. </p><p>This, of course, was a challenge that I, as this ship's doctor, undertook of my own obligation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pierre Aronnax/Capitaine Nemo | Pierre Aronnax/Captain Nemo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a story in the cracks in your hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is for the 2K Leagues Gift Exchange, for @fuum0nou! Happy holidays! I hope you enjoy this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In all my years of marine fieldwork, I had been lucky enough as not to incur any particularly dangerous fauna that would warrant a trip to the emergency room. That, however, would not be the case today.</p><p>I was doing some studies in the shallow reefs just below where the Nautilus was idly hovering, a part of the southern Galapagos that had remained relatively untraveled during the colder months. It gave me to perfect opportunity to do delicate observations of the sea turtles, salt iguanas, and lionfish that called this archipelago their home. It also, however, put me at great risk of foolish injury, and my compatriots as well.</p><p>Without Conseil to aid me in my research, I had taken to having some of the crew members as apprentices. While they were handy with the innerworkings of the ship and took great pleasure in the marine life, very few of them harbored an interest in aquatic lifeforms to the extent of myself or the Captain. And so, I had chosen one of the younger crew members, a young American named Rene who was almost the same age as my former valet. He took to the practice quite nicely and, while not as well-attuned to categorizing, held the spark of curiosity and passion that was necessary for any aspiring scholar.</p><p>He and I were taking our time, combing through the reef and noting the behaviors and hunting patterns of those spined lionfish, the ones that have fins of vibrant, jeweled toned hues with edges sharp enough to earn one a papercut. In the back of the mind, I tried to recall the treatment for such a sting of theirs; something that seldom happened to others in my field, but quite a pain when it did. I was sure that I had the necessary materials in my clinic back aboard ship, although part of me worried I would not remember how to use them. Since becoming the Nautilus's one and only medic, I had since dedicated the better part of my leisure time to reviewing basic first aid and wound treating, and it had become very apparent to me that I was in desperate need of a reminder.</p><p>It was in the middle of this self-anxious musing that I heard a sudden cry from the other side of the reef. Rene was holding his right hand to his chin and was floating away from the current shelf he'd been viewing. I grabbed my magnifying glass and kicked my legs through the water, squinting through the semi-opaque glass pane of my helmet to assess the damage.</p><p>He looked towards me with urgency and held up the palm of his hand. I could see now that the lionfish had torn straight through the fabric, and the water in his palm was becoming stained with his blood. I motioned to him back towards the ship, concluding our field work for the day. As we began back, I looked around for the unruly specimen that had wounded my friend.</p><p>But I only saw the comb-fine fins of a scarlet lionfish disappearing behind the rocks. Humbled and only slightly irritated, I followed Rene into the moon pool and returned to the safety of the Nautilus.</p><p>"How strange. I created that cloth to be resistant against such elements."</p><p>I was working at the counter under the algae-yellow lights of the ship. My clinic had become my personal sanctuary; it reminded me of my med school days when I had first started my journey in academia. At the Captain's request, I'd decorated any spare shelving-where there was any-with dried fossils and empty shells to remind me that I was deep below the sea, not on the streets of some student infirmary on the surface. He was behind me, holding the detached tattered glove of Rene's diving suit in his hand. He insisted on its deconstruction; citing that he was in need of a new one, anyway. It was true, he was a fast grower and was almost as tall as his commander. I, on the other hand, was tidying away the salve that I'd treated him with minutes ago. With reserved satisfaction at another patient treated, I replaced the vials and materials in the overhead cabinet and wiped down the counter with an alcohol-soaked rag.</p><p>"No invention of man is completely invincible to the works of nature, or the spines of an agitated lionfish," I replied, hoping not to patronize him of his creation too dearly.</p><p>"I suppose. Will he be alright?"</p><p>"Of course. Mild stinging and a numbness in the area, yes, but nothing severe. He will be able to resume his duties as per usual in the next week."</p><p>Satisfied, the Captain nodded. "Good. Thank you again for your services, professor." Even though I had been on the ship for the better part of the cold season, I sensed that he still had the reserved interest to spoil me with compliments and spare me from the micro-aggression that he'd previously bestowed across his crew in the past. It was very unnecessary, but not entirely unwelcome.</p><p>"I am just ensuring the wellbeing of the crew, that is all." I turned around and observed his holding.</p><p>His hands, while a familiar sight across buttons, the wheel in the navigation hold, and held within my own. They were dark like driftwood and just as such, covered in ridges and creases that made his initial touch rough, calloused. As time passed, I learned to accept that cold-hearted touch for what it was; simply a result of a life filled with tragedy and hard work to amend it. The Captain was still getting used to touch. It was seldom when I received stories of how he'd gotten his scars. Slowly, I had learned enough to put together a cobbled story of this ship's captain, but it was not a nice one.</p><p>He was always averse to touch. I found that it had taken many small steps just to lay a head on his shoulder. His body was always hot, as I’d immediately noticed as a medical practitioner. It went hand in hand with the quiet, boiling anger that seemed to follow him, attached to his being like a barnacle to a rock. Perhaps that why he left for the sea, I reasoned; he needed the meek, demure nature of the seas to quelle his rage. As he studied the sea, I hoped that he looked inward, too. I hoped that he was slowly learning to treat himself with the care he would for any creature of the deep blue. And above all, as selfish as it would seem, I hoped that I was responsible for that metamorphosis, too.</p><p>Caught in a moment of foolish romanticism, I took his palms in my own and waited, hoping I would not scare him away. I made no sudden movement nor comments. It would seem that this enigmatic individual was brilliant at multitasking until it came to the matter of showing affection.</p><p>I ran my cleaned thumbs over the lines of his palm. I was never of the superstitious type, but I felt as if there were a story in those crevices. A story of how those hands were shaken with every other vagabond who’d stepped foot on this ship; of how they worked tirelessly in some clandestine bunker or beach, building the walls of this magnificent vessel; of how they, at some point, in a time and place lost, protected a kin until they were ripped away. And now, the story of which I took part, the one where a man lost at sea crossed paths with one intent to study everything within its great basin, including its refugees.</p><p>He sighed deeply and I laid my head on his chest, and traced the words of my chapter in this man’s life into his skin; another bandage laid over a bleeding wound that, with time, would heal.</p><p>That was, after all, my job, yes?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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